


How to Drink Coffee After Midnight

by Khadgarfield



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Divergence, Fluff and Smut, Hand Restraint/Soft Bondage, Kissing, M/M, Worgen Sex, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27573647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khadgarfield/pseuds/Khadgarfield
Summary: Genn Greymane, the emotionally-repressed hopeless-romantic, seeks companionship in the wake of his wife's death. Spymaster Shaw, pride of the Stormwind Military Intelligence and loyal servant to the crown, proves more receptive than initially expected.
Relationships: Genn Greymane/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 13
Kudos: 49





	How to Drink Coffee After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amongthieves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amongthieves/gifts).



> The idea for this fic was suggested to me by @amongthieves, who has written a truly marvelous Genn/Mathias story that i cannot recommend highly enough. If you havent read it yet, you need to go there right now and do so, and if youre a massive Genn Greymane Simp like I am, then you should probably read it twice. 
> 
> THE REQUEST: King Greymane and Spymaster Shaw embark on a personal relationship in the wake of Mia Greymane's death. feat. bottom!shaw, Genn going worgen mode during sex. ;3
> 
> Thank you @kayani_Iriel for the beta feedback on the first draft this piece!

It had started as a matter of common decency – a polite invitation that Genn had accepted, because he didn’t have anything better to do. As the night wore on though, and he saw the bottom of too many glasses, the decency of the thing began to fall apart like a neat stack of letters tumbling off the edge of a desk. He supposed, as he watched the spymaster order yet another beverage that they had known each other for long enough now that eventually, a slip-up like this was inevitable.

Genn was learning that Spymaster Mathias Shaw could drink more than anyone might have expected, and that he held it surprisingly well, but even in the low light of the Snug Harbor Genn could see the soft flush of inebriation rising in his face. Shaw was sitting close enough that his eyelashes were visible – they were stubby, dark auburn, and prettier than Genn remembered – and Genn could smell the cologne he used, lingering on his skin. Even though it was impossible to place it, it appealed to his appetite in the same way that sweet wine did, alluding to something richly amber. Something cedar. Something slightly gourmand. His red hair flickered copper in the firelight, his gestures were graceful and controlled even as he downed his sixth stein of ale, and it wasn’t until he said something, tripping over the words so they all came out slurred together, that Genn realized Shaw was well and truly drunk.

“Light,” Shaw carded his hand through his hair, embarrassed to have fallen so deeply in his cups. “I think I drank too much.”

He seemed so unusually vulnerable in that moment that it was charming. Genn felt something tender and nebulous roiling within his chest. When he nodded in agreement, the motion made his head swim a little, and the world around them blurred into a chaotic rush of colour and light and sound.

Maybe Genn was a little bit tipsy, too.

Shaw asked him to help him stand, and Genn, naturally, obliged him. His weight was surprising, given his size, or perhaps it was the weight of his uniform that burdened him as they stumbled out of the inn and into the night. Outside, it was snowing – the first snowfall of the season – and silence blanketed Tradewinds Market like a spell waiting to be broken by a magic word. Shaw swayed a little as they made their way towards the _Wind’s Redemption_ , and his breath formed glittering silver ghosts on his lips.

He really was quite beautiful. Genn had never noticed before. Or maybe he had, and just refused to think about it. He was still married, after all - He wore his wedding band on his finger just as Mia wore her own in her grave. Thinking of his wife always made his heart ache, but lately it had ached less so during those quiet moments on the deck of the _Redemption,_ when the sky was blue and the sun was shining, and a warm sea breeze fluttered through the spymaster’s hair.

_Light,_ Shaw had beautiful hair. It was the exact same luster and tone as Liam’s had been, though Genn tried not to see the dead in the features of the living, and as much as Genn was compelled to look at it forever he found it less emotionally taxing to spend his idle days simply watching Shaw lean across the mission table, his muscles moving smoothly under the leather of his uniform. He told himself that Shaw was more fit and graceful than many of his soldiers were, and smarter too, and it was this that made him a professional worthy of Genn’s admiration. Nothing more.

He was not so professional as they mounted the gangplank now, though. Shaw’s weight swung heavily against Genn’s shoulder, and for a moment it looked like he might slip off the narrow walkway and plunge into the water below. Shaw caught the lapel of Genn’s coat, and with a rush of fear, as icy and cold as the harbor was sure to be, Genn managed to keep them from plummeting. Their footsteps fell heavy on the deck, as they righted themselves again.

“Fuck,” Shaw seemed flustered, still gripping Genn as though he never intended to let go. His cheeks were dark, even in the gloom of the night. “Fuck I hate this boat. I hate this boat so m-”

Genn leaned in before he could finish, silencing his frustration with a kiss that was did not meet resistance, but much to his disappointment was not returned. The spymaster said nothing as they parted again - He turned on his heel and strode to the other end of the ship, without even a short ‘goodnight’. Genn was too drunk to feel much besides the cold wet lick of snow on his cheeks and in his hair.

He knew he would regret that, come morning.

…

Shaw avoided speaking to him after that.

They circled around each other in silence, sometimes working, sometimes gazing at the crowds of people milling about, and more often than not dealing with the champions and agents that brought only minor news of the war that raged around them. Inside his own heart, another battle went on – Genn couldn’t remember the specifics of what had happened, or what exactly his thought process had been, but he remembered the sensory details of the moment more vividly than he might have if he was sober. How slight Shaw had felt against him. How he had been warm, and his lips were soft.

Genn knew he needed to apologise, but found himself getting caught up every time the idea crossed his mind. He wasn’t even sure the spymaster remembered what had happened, and he didn’t want to have to explain if he didn’t. Honestly, he appreciated that Shaw hadn't said anything – maybe if he ignored it long enough, it would all go away?

The days really did pass slowly, though. The snow of early winter was pleasant to look at, but soon became nothing more than a nuisance every time he had to go outside. Genn often found himself cold and wet, pacing between the ship and the Harbor Master’s office, watching for a flash of red hair in the monotonous grey of the mid-afternoon. Shaw’s uniform did not seem conducive to keeping warm and comfortable, and more than once Genn thought he saw him shiver when a chilling wind rattled through the boat. Four times, Genn had thought he saw him glance at him in his peripheral, but when he turned his head to look Shaw was always doing something else. Talking to Wyrmbane. Bossing around troops. Examining an object one of the rangers had brought back after a trip to Zuldazar. Genn had counted each of them, but of them all the one that made his heart race the most was when he glanced up from a conversation he was having with Cyrus, and saw Shaw striding into the Harbor Master’s office with a grim expression on his face.

“King Greymane? There's been a problem. We need you on board.”

Genn had gone with him, listened closely as he explained a looming Horde threat in Arathi, and took the neatly folded missive Shaw passed him with the instruction to get it back to King Anduin in Stormwind as soon as possible. Genn had been elected as the messenger, since he had higher clearance to use the portals on short notice.

“Besides,” Shaw told him, as they stood on the near the gangplank they had almost fell from less than a week before. “I need to stay here for now, I have operatives in Vol’dun that are expecting me to be here when they get back.”

“It shouldn’t take me long to deliver,” Genn assured him, tucking the missive into his coat. “I will be back again tomorrow.”

“You won’t stay in Stormwind for a few days?”

Shaw seemed surprised. Genn pulled his shoulders into a shrug.

“What for? I have nothing in Stormwind.”

Not anymore.

Shaw gave him a long, lingering look that Genn couldn’t make sense of. Genn was never particularly good at processing more delicate emotions, things like fury and strength and pride had always been more his suit, and indeed he knew Mathias Shaw was similar in that regard. The spymaster could be so cold and dismissive, even with a shadow of wistfulness in the depths of verdant eyes. With neither of them really knowing what to say, or if they ought to say anything at all, Genn changed the subject.

“Do you want me to pick anything up for you? Or for your men? I know the hard winter can make homesickness worse.”

“Hmm.” Shaw's manner shifted, back to the businesslike expression he usually favored. “I can’t speak for my men, but I would certainly appreciate some more familiar Stormwind fare. I don’t care for fish, and the coffee here is terrible.”

“Stormwind Brie and some coffee then?” Genn offered. “I can’t bring more than what I can fit in my pockets.”

This made the corners of Shaw’s lips pull upward slightly.

“So, much of the stock at the Pig and Whistle then? Very well. Just a small portion of coffee will do. Don’t worry about the cheese.”

Genn returned the smile, but felt very strange about it. When was the last time he had smiled? He didn’t remember, off the top of his head.

“Boralus food isn't so terrible,” He heard himself say, “Provided you know where to look for it.”

“I don’t know where to look for it, obviously.”

“I can show you.” The words came out before he stopped to think about them. “When I get back. I owe you, after...”

Well.

Spymaster Shaw was disarmed by the offer. His brows lifted a little, and Genn noticed much too suddenly that he had tiny little snowflakes dusting his moustache. It had started snowing again, apparently, and he knew he was going to have quite a temperature shock, when he stepped through that portal into Stormwind.

“We don’t have to,” Genn told him lamely. “I just thought. There's a place I know. It does coffee.”

“... And food too?”

“Some food.”

Shaw looked thoughtful, his sharp eyes peeling back Genn’s expression, his keen mind trying to dissect his motivations and understand them better than Genn did himself.

“Very well then,” He said eventually. “I look forward to it. But mind, when you are buying me the coffee? Make sure you get the pre-ground kind.”

…

The Goldman’s Cafe. A nice place. Better lit than the Snug Harbor, and with higher quality coffee besides. Genn had taken to visiting the restaurants and cafes in Uptown Borough alone, soon after he had arrived in Boralas - He hadn't always loved the experience of fine dining, but he did have a fondness for good food that was almost unbecoming of a warrior-king. Sweet things in particular, appealed to him in his older age. Maybe he was just going soft. Or maybe he just missed the way that Mia used to put two lumps of sugar in his tea.

Shaw though, drunk his coffee black, and stronger than Genn had thought it was possible to make it. He could smell the richness of it from across the low table, mingling pleasantly with the scent of wood burning on a crackling fire. Under it all, he was still aware of Shaw’s perfume. He was wearing that ambery aftershave again, and it made Genn remember how his lips had tasted when he kissed him.

“Did your agents report back?” Genn asked, sinking a fork into the quiche he had ordered, but watching Shaw closely from the corner of his eye. It was awkward to eat like this, with a fork from fine china, and the way he sunk too low in his armchair made it worse.

“Two of them. A few died.”

“Oh.”

Genn glanced up at him, as he took a drink of his coffee, and it wasn’t clear if his grimace was a response to the taste, or to the knowledge that he had sent yet another a handful of solider to their deaths.

“That happens often?”

“No. Usually no one comes back.”

The conversation lulled, and for a single ridiculous moment Genn was conscious of the fact that they were two middle aged men, war-torn and tired, sitting in a twee little cafe talking about death. Shaw’s thousand-yard stare betrayed the fact he had realized it as well.

Change the subject then. As soon as possible.

“King Anduin asked me to send you regards,” Genn told him hurriedly, turning his face back down to his quiche. “He was sorry you didn’t come to deliver the message yourself.”

“Did you tell him you were the only person in the city allowed to use the portal with less than three hours’ notice?”

“Of course, but I would have thought you would also qualify for special clearance?”

Shaw, coming back to himself and to the present space, sat up straighter in the armchair he was cradled in, and gave him a wry smile.

“I dislike travel by portals.” He explained. “I never applied for special clearance.”

“Oh,” Genn was surprised. “Well alright then. I just assumed… “

“It would be the professional thing to do?” Shaw set his coffee down on the table and brushed his hand back through his hair. “You did, of course, assume correctly. But I like to make allowances for my own well-being from time to time.”

“Indeed.”

Another silence, his time more comfortable. Genn couldn’t help but wonder what other ‘allowances’ might constitute. Shaw’s professionalism was renowned amongst all who valued the might of the Alliance, and thinking about the places where his official façade began to blur into his personal one was fascinating and bizzare. It stood to reason that Mathias Shaw, Spymaster, was distinct from Mathias Shaw, Man, but where exactly did the two diverge? Genn wondered if the line between those people broke down in his little gestures. In the way he tapped his fingers tersely on the mission table when he was lost in thought, or the way he brought a hand back to scratch idly at the side of his neck. Genn noticed the latter gesture exposed his wrist – glimpsing it was unexpectedly intimate. Unexpectedly erotic. He tried to redirect his thoughts.

“I would have thought you would order more food than that. Or at least something a little more extravagant.”

Shaw spoke, making an unsettling observation. Did he mean to imply something by that? Did he know about Genn’s clandestine solo visits to the bistros and bars of Uptown Borough?

“Why would you think that?”

“You are a big man. You seem like the sort to have a large appetite.”

Oh. That was interesting. Genn could not tell if he had imagined the double entrendre, or if Shaw’s brisk honesty was catching him off guard.

“I am a big man.” He agreed slowly, watching to see if this garnered any response. “What of it?”

Shaw shrugged, and picked up his coffee again.

“Nothing, I suppose. Is it any good?”

He gestured to the quiche. Genn met his eyes, and he might have spent forever stuck in the profundities contained there if not for the loud crack of the café door swinging open, and some hefty Kul Tiran civilian blundering inside.

“It’s fine,” Genn told him, pulling his gaze away to watch the civilian close the café door. A wave of cold air made the fire shudder in the hearth. It passed soon enough, though, and the atmosphere returned to normal again. The cosy, quiet sound of patrons settled around them. “You can have the rest, if you like.”

He pushed the plate across the table and offered the fork. Shaw studied it for a minute, before he relented, setting his drink down once more and accepting it. Their fingers touched fleetingly, and Genn felt it shoot up his hand like a zap of arcane magic. Though naturally, it lacked the sting.

“No fish in it?”

“No fish.”

Genn watched him eat with fascination – the delicate way he held the fork, the shallow crease between his eyebrows as he contemplated the taste. Most of all, Genn memorized the way he cocked his head just an increment, when he decided he liked it.

“Not bad,” He said. “The coffee is fairly good, too. Though I’m grateful for what you brought me from home.”

“You're welcome,” Genn told him. “Now we can call it even.”

“Even?”

“Yes.” Genn felt himself flush. “For the other night. You paid, remember?”

“Oh.” Shaw’s eyes fluttered, mind harking back to the evening in question. His hesitation suggested he was likely recalling more than just the tab. He did remember what had happened, then? “Right. Let’s say then, we are even. One further question notwithstanding.”

“Which question is that?”

“Who will pay for this coffee?”

This made Genn laugh, unguarded. It was a matter of small change for them both, but the issue was an opportunity to be amiable and warm. Both things Genn hadn’t been for a long time. Both things he had taken for granted, when he was.

_Light_ , he was growing soft in his old age.

Shaw smiled again, wider than his usual restrained quirk of the lips, and _again_ he carded his hand through his hair. Every time he did it Genn felt his interest piqued, mind racing through thoughts about how smooth it looked. How it fell back into place. The way it appeared slightly rumpled now, because he had touched it too many times.

“I had a nice evening with you,” Shaw confessed. “I am sorry that I drunk too much. I haven’t been out lately, and I forgot myself.”

“I was drunk too,” Genn reminded him. “I don’t think less of you for it.”

“I'm grateful. You know I don’t have very many friends in my life. I am proud to count you among that number, and I’d hate to invite your scorn.”

“I scorn fewer than my reputation leads people to expect. I don’t have the time.”

It was true - hating Sylvanas occupied him too much for him to be concerned over minor offenses. Shaw in particular would struggle to earn his disdain. He was too competent. Too sharp. Too… pretty to look at.

“Yet you have the time to bring me here?”

Shaw was teasing him now, in the droll way he sometimes taunted his colleagues in SI:7. The fact that Genn recognized this was a testament to how intently he had been watching the man for months now. Many of the younger members of SI:7, and at least half of the seventh legion, were simply under the impression that spymaster Shaw was a humorless asshole, but Genn knew better. He turned his face away, trying to believe that the heat on his cheeks was from the fire, and not because he was blushing like a virginal milkmaid.

“I still owed you,” he admitted. “a jar of coffee didn’t exactly seem like enough.”

“Enough?” Shaw looked puzzled. “You mean for the ale?”

“No.” Genn brought a hand up to scratch at his beard. “No, after that. On the boat. I owed you an apology. But I wasn’t entirely sure how to say it.”

“ _Oh.”_ Shaw’s left eyebrow arched. “You mean for the…”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

The furrow that emerged in his forehead was difficult to interpret, but Genn did not miss the way he seemed to sit a little more rigidly in his chair.

“I didn’t mean to,” Genn offered in way of explanation, hoping he could convince the spymaster that he really did mean no harm. “I do realise that it was thoroughly inappropriate.”

“It’s okay, Genn. I understand.”

He crossed his legs in front of himself, left hand moving up to twist the corner of his moustache. Genn was not reassured that he understood at all. He tried again.

“I surprised myself as well, Spymaster. I’m not typically very good with these things.”

“And which things would those be?’

“Well.”

Genn didn’t exactly know.

When was the last time he had been drawn to anyone, in the way he was drawn to Mathias Shaw? Not since before he was wed, surely, and after Mia had departed Genn thought he might never feel such a thing again. What was it about him, that made him so compelling? Was it his grace and expertise? His trim body in form fitting pants? Or was it his hair and his eyes and his cheekbones, features that gave him the fine and courtly look that appealed to all of Genn's baser desires? It was possible, of course, that it was the result of all of these things and then some. But how to put it into words?

“I really did want to kiss you.”

Shaw’s eyes fluttered, as though he was barely acknowledging the admission.

“And do you want to still?”

Genn studied him, the familiar lines of his nose and his lips, partially obscured by manicured facial hair. Was this a trick question? If he answered honestly, would _he_ be the one met with disdain?

“I do.” He conceded, in the end. “If you allowed it of course.”

There was no point keeping secrets between them. Even if he found himself spurned, he trusted the spymaster was discreet enough to keep it between them alone. It was a most unusual kind of trust to have in someone, but Genn realized he had it without exception. There was nothing for him to lose right now, except maybe a friend.

Shaw studied him stoically, thoughts churning behind his eyes, before finally he heaved a great sigh and leaned forward to pick up his coffee cup again. The thing was almost empty, and almost certainly cold by now.

“I had thought you were joking,” he said simply. “I didn’t think anything of it.”

“What? Why would I joke about that?”

“I don’t know, Genn. That’s why I was confused.” Shaw let his head drop wearily to the side, gazing up at the ceiling as he thought. “If it _was_ a joke, I might have been quite bothered by it.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Genn assured him.

“Okay then.” He drained his coffee and set the empty mug down between them. “In that case, I have a proposition for you.”

A proposition?

Genn was not sure what to make of this.

…

Genn had to crouch to fit through the door of Shaw’s cabin on the _Wind’s Redemption_. The spymaster was already undoing his shoulderpiece as Genn closed the door behind them.

“No lock?” He asked, and Shaw shook his head.

“Push the thing in front of it.”

“Thing?”

Shaw gestured to a piece of furniture – a bookshelf tucked beneath a small portal window. Genn did as instructed, moving the shelf in front of the door to dissuade any kind of interruption. With this done, he pulled off his coat, and bent down to unlace his boots. Shaw dropped his shoulder armour into a chair at the back of the room, and began to unbuckle his corseted curiass.

It was an unusual experience, to undress himself in the presence of another. Genn hadn’t done anything like it for some time. He felt strangely vulnerable, once he had peeled off everything but his shirt and his underpants, but he could only imagine how odd the spymaster felt, since he was more strictly outfitted than Genn was and tended to wear the exact same outfit every day.

“Need help, Spymaster?”

Shaw was stripping his belt now, and wriggling his fitted trousers down over his thighs. The skin being exposed was porcelain white, and mostly hairless, and it made a lump rise in Genn’s throat.

“You can call me Mathias,” Shaw insisted, divesting himself of his trousers and tossing them across the room. “I’m off duty.”

“Time off duty is one of those ‘allowances’ you make for your own well-being?”

“Yes. Not as often as I should, I’ll admit.”

Mathias removed his bracers last, so he was standing in the middle of the cabin in smallclothes and a loose undershirt. The cotton clung to his shoulders, creased over his chest and stomach from being compressed beneath his layers. He looked even smaller without his gear on, and even more expertly built. When Genn reached out to take his wrist, he let himself be pulled close enough that Genn could see his eyelashes again. This time, when Genn kissed him, he kissed back. Genn felt Mathias’ fingers moving up his chest to pull open his shirt buttons. He allowed it, and deepened the kiss.

_Light_ it felt good to be kissed properly. Or to be kissed at all after so, so long. Mathias had quick fingers, that made short work of stripping his shirt, and they did not hesitate to rake through the hair on Genn’s chest. He didn’t linger on the scar at Genn’s shoulder, skating his touch lower to brush against his nipples instead, and when he pinched them lightly Genn felt the hair on the nape of his neck prickle.

“Feel good?” Mathias asked against his lips, and Genn nodded. He slid his hands across Mathias’ slim waist, and sunk his fingers into the solid muscle of his ass.

“Of course.”

“I had imagined you would be more. Hirstute?”

“I can be.”

Mathias blushed deeply at the offer.

“In a bit, sure. But this is good for now.”

They kissed for a long time, Mathias teasing his nipples, winding him up slowly, and Genn letting his own hands explore the silhouette he had contemplated for weeks while they had worked in close proximity. With parted lips, Mathias tasted slightly different – a little less sugary. He licked at Genn’s tongue, tentative at first, and then with shameless abandon. Genn dragged his hand over his tailbone, and he melted with a whimper against Genn's chest. He had to pause for a moment, to let him recover.

“Sorry,” Mathias murmured, “It’s been a long time.”

“Me too, don’t worry.”

Not that any of this was important. Irrespective of being ill-practiced, they were both grown men, and they knew well enough how to do what they had come to do. Genn pulled him back into a kiss, and then before he second-guessed his own strength, he slid his hands under the backs of Mathias’ thighs to hoist him onto his hips.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Mathias laughed breathlessly, clinging to Genn's neck as he carried him to the skinny single cot tucked into the corner of the room. “You know how to sweep a man off his feet.”

“It’s not hard. How much do you weigh? You’re very light.”

He made an indignant noise, but let Genn maneuver him onto the cot without complaint. The squeeze on the mattress was tight, and it was hard for Genn to see what they were doing even with his keen eyesight, but they would work it out. Genn’s heart hammered as he positioned himself over him, letting his weight fall onto the thin, square frame of Mathias’ hips. Both of them were hard. It would have been a perfect moment, except…

Mathias tugged at Genn's hair when he leaned in to kiss him again. Genn had always had a sensitive scalp, and the spymaster had a powerful grip. Genn broke away from the kiss and growled.

“That hurts.” He said, and Mathias released his grasp, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise-”

“It’s ok,” Genn cut him off. Seized by an _excellent_ idea, he slid out of the bed and moved to grab Mathias’s belt off the floor. “Let’s just make sure you keep these hands to yourself.”

He wasn’t ready to ask himself yet, why the thought of Mathias’s hands in his hair made him so jumpy. He didn’t _hate_ the idea, in fact he rather liked it provided the Spymaster could be gentle. When he was younger, he had enjoyed the sensation of being petted, but Mia had stopped running her hand over his scalp soon after Tess was born, and she had never picked up the habit again. The memory of the gesture felt too haunting, almost sacred, so the fact he wasn’t repulsed by it filled him with a sense of shame he quickly repressed.

_Put a pin in that for later,_ he thought to himself – one of those phrases he had heard Mathias say while discussing intelligence that no one knew what to do with yet. He picked up the belt, noting that it was tasteful, heavy, and expensive-looking, and made his way back to the bed.

“What’s that for?” Mathias seemed wary. Moreso than usual.

“Do you trust me?” Genn asked him. A difficult question to pose to a spy. Suspicious emerald eyes flickered between Genn’s face and the belt in his hands, gauging their comparative sizes and measuring the risk involved in what Genn was implying. Genn’s heightened senses picked up on the small hitch in his breath, the scent of his blood warming as it coursed through his veins, and how his voice waivered almost imperceptibly when he replied.

“I suppose I trust you.”

“Good,” Genn ran his hands along the length of the belt. “Take off your underwear and roll over for me. Kneel up straight.”

He was captivated, and more than a little aroused, by how steadily Mathias did as he was told. With his underwear gone, Genn could see he had sparse hair between his legs, a few tones darker than the hair on his head. His cock, like the rest of him, was slim and elegant, and it thrust up against his stomach with the same kind of dignity he carried himself with. How was it possible that he could be this beautiful?

Genn climbed onto the bed behind him, tugging his arms back gently until and coiling the belt three times around his wrists. The etched buckle was difficult to secure, but Genn managed. Once it was done, he heard Mathias sigh shakily, and Genn tugged gently on the binding to pull him back against his chest.

“You look so good,” He murmured, against the shell of Mathias’ ear. “Do you have something to make this easier?”

“Mmm. On the shelf.”

The shelf in the alcove where the bed lived boasted a small stack of books, a pair of light reading glasses, and a jar of solid massage oil. Genn felt his cock twitch as he wondered why a man who claimed he hadn’t lain with anyone for a while would need a jar of oil at his bedside. The thought that Mathias Shaw pleasured himself, as Genn himself did late at night sometimes, made him feel an empathetic longing. The two of them had so much in common, it was probably inescapable that they would end up like this. Genn turned his face and pressed their lips together briefly, just to remember the taste of him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” He said, breaking the kiss and tugging on belt. “And I will take this off.”

“Mhmm.” Mathias nodded weakly, body sagged against Genn’s own. Pressed against his back, it was even easier to register how nervous he was to be defenseless. His heart throbbed, vibrating through his spine and into the core of Genn’s chest. His body quivered, like a doe standing frozen in the line of archer’s fire. Being so aware of his anxiety played with Genn’s arousal in mesmerizing ways – ways that reminded him of wild hunts and animal urges, and the feverish, coppery taste of blood. Unable to resist, Genn slid one of his hands around. It crept down between Mathias’ legs, to finally take his length in hand. His ass was pressing Genn's own erection to his stomach. When Genn thumbed the wet, blunt tip of his cock, his head tipped back and his lips parted. He moaned as though no one had ever touched him before _._

_“Genn”._

How wanton. Genn would have expected the spymaster to be more discreet. He was so turned on that his balls were beginning to ache dully.

He pushed Mathias away gently, holding the belt around his wrists tight, and with his hips hard on Mathias’s ass he lowered the other man down until his chest lay against the pillow. His face was twisted to the side, looking to the wall, but Genn could see him in profile, his brows furrowed and his eyes closed. Genn had to wrench his eyes away to reach for the oil, and Mathias’ lips parted in a silent _oh_ when he dug some out of the jar and stroked his fingers across the place his cock was begging to enter.

“Hard or soft?” Genn asked him, and the low timbre of his own voice thrilled him.

“Hard,” came the breathless response, “as hard as you can.”’

Genn could do that.

When he pressed a finger inside, Mathias gasped, hips rocking against his knuckles and begging wordlessly for more. Genn obliged him, adding another finger. The sounds Mathias was making were shameless, and it occurred to Genn yet again that people onboard the ship might be able to hear them. He didn’t care all that much, and clearly, the spymaster didn’t either because three fingers in, he thought all of Boralus might bear witness to their collision. Genn did his best to finger him open, encouraged by his needy little noises, and found he seemed to _love_ when Genn curled his fingers and massaged the inner walls of his body. He would have gladly pleasured him like this forever, drinking in the way his breath shook his shoulders and his thighs tensed in delight under his touch, but he knew he had to remove his fingers eventually. When he did, it was with a silent promise that he would do this to him again sometime - provided Mathias would allow it, of course.

Genn pushed down his underwear, slicked his cock with some more of the oil, and with one hand still supporting Mathias's wrists he lined himself up to push into him. He went slowly – the last thing he wanted was to cause any pain – and at last being hilted inside him was divine. Mathias’s body was hot and silky, and the rippling landscape of his back was a delight for the eyes. His little whimpers sent a wave of goosebumps across Genn’s skin, and Genn couldn’t recall the last time he had felt so wanted. It made him feel like he could have happily consumed the other man alive.

When Genn finally pulled back, he was goaded by the easy glide of his length to thrust back in again more recklessly than he should have. Mathias shuddered, and Genn began to feel a clawing sensation around the edges of his consciousness. He tried his best to keep his initial pace slow and regular, milking soft whimpers from Mathias every time his cock struck true. He needed to distract himself, from the feral churning core in his belly, so he stroked a spare hand over Mathias’s ass in aesthetic admiration.

He had such a beautiful body. Taking him instilled a powerful sense of pride, but it hardly suited as a distraction because the sense of honor harked back to the feeling of victory Genn remembered when he had conquered in tournaments as a young man. As old as he was, it was good to know he could still feel that way - For the first time since the day he was altered, Genn was genuinely thankful that the change had served his vanity well. A roll of satisfaction curled down his back, like the bristling of his coat when the curse came upon him, and he almost didn’t hear the appeal from the man he was fucking.

“ _Harder,_ please… _”_

Sweat was beginning to glimmer on Mathias’s shoulders, dampening the soft red hairs at the nape of his neck. He pushed back against Genn’s thighs, inviting him to press deeper and more forcefully, and eagerly Genn picked up the pace. Surely, Mathias’ arms would be aching now, from being tugged backwards like this, and surely his legs must be tired from holding up his weight. Genn’s own muscles were burning with the exertion of restraint, his skin roiling on the backs of his hands and across the small of his back. As his pace lifted, Mathias made a long, strangled sound of ecstasy, and all that self-control snapped like a bowstring drawn too taut. His shift shuddered through him in a fast, violent rush - the same way a fire tore through desiccated tinder. Beneath him, Mathias yelped in surprise. It sublimated quickly into a gasp of bliss.

He was bigger in his worgen shape, he knew it, and now Mathias Shaw knew it too. He had never fallen into changing during sex before, although he had always known it was possible, just as it was possible in all things emotionally or physically strenuous. He had, however, indulged himself once or twice when he was alone, experimenting with the way his worgen cock took stimulation differently to his human one. It felt better for him, like this. His senses were more acute, and his body felt more powerful. Mathias’s hands clenched, bloodless fists in the binding of his belt, and Genn could tell he was digging his nails deep into his flesh.

“Oh _fuck,_ Genn! _Fuck me!_ ”

It was a command, not a request, and although Genn had never taken orders easily he followed this one outright, with all the determination that any High King could only dream he would bring to his duty. He could feel the root of his cock swelling as he approached climax, he could feel Mathias grasping him as though begging for his release, and when he leaned forward to drive his hips at a new angle it sent a cascade of trembles through the spymaster’s body. Bringing him to orgasm after only a few more thrusts was easily the most powerful Genn had ever felt in his life.

The way those muscles clenched around Genn’s length, though, locking him deep inside while Mathias was wrecked by waves of release, meant that Genn didn’t have enough time to pull out before he was finishing too. Maybe he would have felt bad about it, but even while he was recovering Mathias moaned delightedly, rocking back onto his hips with a drawn out ‘ _yes’._ Genn rode his climax with his head back, pulling on the belt that held Mathias’ wrists with all his strength. It was infinitely better than all the times he had cum over his own hand, and it was made sweeter by knowing he had been welcomed by Mathias of his own volition.

Yes, that was the magic of it, really. There was no payment here, just as there was no expectation of duty. Mathias Shaw was not wed to him, and nor was he a humble waif seeking favor with a King. Genn knew in the same way he had known when Mathias had first propositioned him that he could offer the spymaster nothing of value. He had no wealth, and no land, and no status to bequeath. Mathias had simply wanted him, and taken him as he was. There was something so deeply refreshing in that. Genn felt profoundly human in that moment, even as he appeared so wolfish on the outside.

As he recovered, the solid knot at the base of his cock easing in the wake of his orgasm, he realised he should probably liberate Mathias from his bonds. The moment he did so those trembling arms dropped weakly like cut off pieces of string. Genn let himself tumble onto the mattress next to him, not bothered that the bedcover was wet from where Mathias had finished.

Mathias twisted around on the narrow cot to face him. His movements seemed enfeebled, and Genn was startled when he hauled himself over again to sit atop his waist.

“Change back,” He directed, and Genn did so without a second thought. Would he be so prone to allowing the spymaster to push him around like this in their professional lives as well? There was an unforeseen thrill couching that idea, but he didn’t have much time to think on the matter - Mathias’ hands were making the most of their liberty, clasping around Genn's face to drag him into a deep, drawn-out kiss. If Genn was younger, the intensity of it might have stirred his arousal again.

When Mathias broke away, they were both breathless. He sat up straight, still on Genn's body, and Genn could feel the wetness seeping out of him and across his stomach. Mathias seemed unfazed, pushed his hair back off his shiny pink face.

“You have no idea how badly I needed that, Genn. Thank you.”

Indeed, he did look about ten years younger. Exponentially more relaxed.

“You're welcome? You don’t need to thank me. I enjoyed it too.”

Mathias looked down on him, regarding him with warm, clever eyes.

“I’d appreciate your discretion about this,” He said. “I’m sure you know how compromising this would be if word of this got out.”

“Says the Spymaster to the King.”

Mathias laughed, but it was not the haughty or reserved laugh Genn was familiar with. The sound was affectionate and truly mirthful. So captivating it could have made even the coldest of hearts soften. Mathias let himself fall against Genn's chest, welcoming the embrace awaiting him, and Genn thought they could lie here just a little longer now, and rest.


End file.
